The Man in the Chapel
by ChocAndSnow19
Summary: (Set in S-9) The world is still taken aback by the sudden meteor shower. Meanwhile, Dean has other concerns. His brother is dying and there is nothing left for him to do - except praying. However, he is not the only one asking for help in that moment.


**Hello, everyone! I hope you're having a nice morning/day/evening! :)**

**This is my first go at the SPN fanfiction – and I would be grateful if you tell me what you think. It's just a one-shot, but I hope it will be interesting, nevertheless.**

**And one more thing... this story has mild spoilers for season 9 (the beginning of it). For those who haven't seen it yet – I'm really sorry about this.**

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**The Man in the Chapel**

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People were usually surprised to see a nurse in prayer.

Most of them would give me bewildered looks before they walked past me, settling in the nearby vacant pews. But, I didn't mind any of it – as long as they were quiet. I liked the silence of this place. After a long and gruelling night shift, this was the closest thing to peace I could find. Biting my lip for some time, I tightened my grip around my rosary. I brushed my fingers against the tiny beads before I whispered:

"And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us…"

"_Damn it, Sammy_", a voice growled.

_What the…? _I whirled around and glared at the stranger who had startled me. Yet, I didn't say a word. There was something about him that stopped me from complaining.

His posture was utterly stiff as he sat in the pew behind me. Something was troubling him – that was clear. However, although his hands were clasped tightly together, he wasn't praying. He seemed to be deeply hesitating, as if being in the hospital chapel was the worst mistake he could make. As if asking the angels for help would bring him doom rather than comfort. He just sat there for a while, staring absently at his hands. And then, with a quiet, but exhausted sigh, he rested his forehead on his thumbs.

"Is it family?", I whispered.

"Huh?" The stranger raised his head. For some reason, his shoulders became even more tense. His brow furrowed soon after. "Let me guess… you're a psychic?"

I almost chuckled. "No. I've just seen that look before. Maybe too many times." I shrugged, fumbling a bit with my rosary. "It wouldn't be too bad, though, having psychic powers and all that. Knowing what's going to happen."

His lips curved into a bitter smile. "You wouldn't want that."

"Why not?"

"Just trust me on this."

He lowered his head and continued to stare down. A second later, the entire chapel plunged into silence once again. The only noise was the sound of steps, coming from behind the door. That was when the man shifted slightly on his spot and looked at me again.

"What's a nurse like you doing here?", he asked.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm asking for some divine assistance."

He arched an eyebrow slightly. "Really?"

I frowned. "What?"

"You don't seem like the 'neck-deep-in-trouble' type."

"Well, appearances can be deceiving." He seemed surprise. But, I quickly smiled after that. "You're right. It's not me. He's a… friend of mine."

"Yeah, right."

I tilted my head slightly to one side. "Are you jealous?"

His gaze turned into a glare. "You got quite a mouth for a nurse, you know?"

"Maybe. But, that's nothing compared to your…"

"_Shhh!_"

The both of us whirled around, just in time to see an elderly woman glowering at us. She brought a finger to her lips, giving us a sign to be quiet. I felt embarrassment kicking in. I quickly muttered an apology before turning back to my pew.

"I'm frigging tired of this", I added to myself. Unfortunately, he heard me.

"Irritated old ladies? Yeah, me, too."

I felt the urge to smack him in the head. Yet, I somehow fought it back. "I mean, I'm tired of having nothing left to do but wait. That's wrong on too many levels."

"But, sometimes you can't avoid it."

"You're a different case. I'm a nurse and you're a… you're a…" I trailed off and waved my hand around, not knowing what to call him exactly. I thought of saying "lumberjack" since he had a plaid shirt, but I had a feeling that wasn't the right answer.

"Mechanic", he replied shortly.

"Mechanic." I nodded. "Right. On the other hand, I'm a nurse here! Fixing people is in my job description. I should always have a way to help. Do you know how it feels like when that's what you're supposed to be doing and you can't do shit?"

"This is a chapel, missy, not a bar!", the same lady chimed in, "Watch the goddamn language!"

_Damn it. _I looked to my right. The woman was now alternately sending disapproving looks to me and the stranger. I quietly sighed. My time of peace here was obviously long gone. Maybe I should get out of here before she swatted me with something – probably with that gigantic purse in her lap.

"This is all _your_ fault", I muttered to the stranger. He made a mock-insulted face.

After hastily picking my things up, I slid out of the pew and rushed through the door, into a narrow corridor outside. However, I didn't stop there. Doing all I could to keep my temper under check, I made my way to the stairs when I heard the chapel door creaking open. And after that...

"Hey, Florence!"

_Him again? What's with that guy? _I halted and turned around.

"This yours?"

He tossed me something. I raised my hand and caught it. And then I realised that it was indeed mine. It was my pack of Lucky Strikes – battered and creased, with a couple of cigarettes lodged inside. I must have forgotten it.

"Yeah. Thanks." I clenched it in my hand. "But, if you call me Florence one more time, you'll regret it, Freckles. Got it?"

"Christo."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "What?"

"I mean… crystal. Crystal clear." This time, he was the one frowning. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Rosie." I cringed at the sheer sound if it. I had never liked it, not even when I was a kid. "My dad is an AC/DC fan. Don't ask."

His eyes suddenly widened. It then dawned on me that they weren't brown, as they looked in the semi-darkness of the chapel. They were, in fact, green.

"You're kiddin', right?", he asked in a low voice, as if he wasn't sure whether to believe this or not, "You got your name after 'Whole Lotta Rosie'?"

_Yep. _"My mum couldn't talk him out of it. Reasoning with him was a losing battle." Unlike me, the stranger seemed a bit cheered up by this. "How 'bout you? Did you have a similar name-giving fate?"

"Not that awesome. I'm Dean." His eyes went down for a moment before darting back up. "So, what made you reach for the smokes, Rosie?"

"Like I told you. A friend in trouble and beyond helping."

I was about to end that subject. I wasn't planning to dump my story on someone I didn't even know – especially someone who seemed to have enough troubles on his own already. But, still, there was one thing that never stopped bothering me. And, once I had mentioned this again, it started bothering me even more. I pursed my lips slightly as I twirled the cigarette pack in my hand.

"You know what's the funny part, Dean?"

Instead of an answer, he just looked at me. And so I continued.

"This wasn't his fault at all. He was just…" A corner of my lips twitched. "It should've been me, you know? But, he jumped out to help me. He didn't want anything to happen to me. And now…" I swallowed hard in the end, pushing my pack deep into my pocket. "You can't fix a thing when it's all already done, can you?"

I waited, expecting some sort of remark from him. However, he remained quiet. I could have sworn that, in a matter of seconds, he seemed much older than he actually was. He turned his head and glanced at the tiled floor at his feet, suddenly lost in thought.

"What is it?", I asked.

"Nothin'." He eventually shook his head. "I guess we got somethin' in common, except being smartasses."

"Sammy's in trouble, right?" As soon as I said that, he raised his eyebrows in confusion. "I heard you mentioning his name back there." I paused for a moment, realising what I had just said. "It _is_ 'his', right? You weren't thinking of Samantha by any chance?"

He smiled. Yet, that smile was forced, sorrowful even.

"Nope", he said, "Definitely not Samantha."

"Is he gonna be okay?"

For a second or two, he said nothing. But, then, something in his look changed, while the smallest trace of his smile vanished. And all he replied was:

"I don't know."

"Maybe he will be."

This time, he sent me a suspicious look. "What makes you say that?"

"Because, in the end, things have to be all right. If we are both stuck in a long, dark tunnel, we have to find a way to get to the light at the end of it."

"Yin and yang, huh?" Judging by his voice, he wasn't too convinced in that. "And what are you gonna do if the light belongs to a friggin' train?"

"Well, if it's a 'Rock N' Roll Train'…" I stopped the second he glared at me. All right, maybe this wasn't such a good moment for a joke. "Anyway, it won't belong to a train. Because something like that can't be. Get it?"

"I don't think so."

"The point is, no mater what happens, we will all find a way to make things okay again. It might take a while, but it will work out." I bit my lip and quietly added: "It h_as _to work out."

Dean was on the edge of sneering. "Don't tell me you seriously believe in that crap."

I shrugged. "I have no other choice but to believe."

He didn't say anything at that. He simply stared at me, with his mouth in a hard line and his gaze hardened than usual. I thought of suggesting him doing the same as I did – having faith when there was nothing else left to have. It was what helped me make it through the day. It might help him a bit, too, whatever his concerns were.

But, I didn't get the chance, because I heard someone calling after me. Hannah, one of my colleagues, was here, standing on the further end of the corridor. It must have been something important, since she was waving at me.

"I gotta go", I said to Dean before swiftly turning away. I already made a couple of steps towards Hannah when I abruptly stopped in my tracks. I glanced behind my shoulder. In the meantime, he hadn't move an inch from his spot.

"Hang tough, Dean."

His smile was genuine this time. "You, too, Florence."

I waved him off and moved on. The moment I got to Hannah, she gave me a sign to follow her and we made our way behind the corner. However, before moving on, stopped again. This time, I took a quick glance at the nearby mirror, to see if my ponytail was still all right.

That was when I scoffed. That Dean was quite a character, since talking with him made me forget about certain things – those which I always had on my mind. For example, the fact that I couldn't check my hair in the mirror. I couldn't check my make-up, nor anything else, because – unlike most people – I didn't have a reflection to look at.

Actually, I couldn't count myself as "normal" at all.

I quietly sniggered. If anyone saw me right now, this would have been quite a shocker. But, I didn't worry too much. After so many years, and plenty of chances to slip up, I knew well enough how to keep my little secrets.

At least I hoped so.

**Reviews will be appreciated!**


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